


That's Funny Isn't It, and Sad Too?

by kiaraA



Category: Victoria (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiaraA/pseuds/kiaraA
Summary: An essay for school that decided to become a story about Lord M and Victoria.





	That's Funny Isn't It, and Sad Too?

That’s funny, isn’t it, and sad too?  
The portraits still fascinated her, after all these years. The eyes of her ancestors following her as she stopped in her usual spot before the portrait of her father. The face she had never and had only come to know through this likeness did not resemble her in the slightest. As a child, she had believed that she boasted his chin, or lack thereof, but age had carved her features. This was always her place of solitude, nobody bothered her here. She found that she needed more and more solitude lately. She needed to relive those final moments and commit them to memory. Would she ever see him again? The whole caravansary had fallen like a card house that day in the garden, and she had lost the one person with whom she had felt truly at peace. Everything was simpler then. Leaving the hallowed hall, she hung her head and began to weep, her dark dress rustling as she walked.  
Noon everyday used to signal his arrival, he would always arrive, without fail, before the tolling of Big Ben, racing against time as he always had. But today, he was not by her side, his green eyes glistening as he spoke of his day, or of history, or even of a topic as mundane as the weather. No conversation with him had bored her. Often, they would sit in silence, content in one another’s company, breaking the comfortable silence easily and as though it had never existed. With him she was unreserved, unrehearsed and was entirely herself. Victoria, the woman. Sitting in the familiar room today was torture. The silence mocked her and the sunlight streaming through the window begged her to walk outdoors. But she could not. She would not. How could she walk when she felt as though she had lost a limb? How could she talk when he was not there to listen? How could she show her face when she had been so humiliated?  
It had seemed as though she had known him her entire life, when in truth it had only been five years. He had arrived at the Palace, ready to pledge allegiance to his girl Queen. Little did either of them know when he bent to kiss her outstretched hand, that he would become her one and only ally, her only friend. She the lone soldier, facing a battle every day of her life. The girl of eighteen he had met that bleak November morning, so young, yet so wilful, brought light into his life and gave him, as he had told her “a reason to continue.” He had been content to guide her, to teach her of the intricacies of court life. He did not anticipate her growing attachment, nor his for that matter. He had not expected to fall in love again. She had never wanted to. If only things were different, they had both sighed. Perhaps it could have been if they were two ordinary people without the weight of the world on their shoulders.  
The servants were bewildered by their Queen mourning a man who was still very much alive, vibrant, and working just down the street. It baffled them, her attachment. And not only the servants. Every drawing room in London debated the topic, and, without any knowledge of the particulars of the situation, allowed the story to grow more scandalous by the hour, to the point that Melbourne was confronted on the streets, and Victoria received letters addressed to “Mrs Melbourne.” They did not know that to be addressed as such was her only wish in the world. The most powerful woman in the realm, the wealthiest, the most desirable match in Europe, harboured the same desire as her maid, and the kitchen staff. She just wanted to be loved.  
It was that desire for love, that blinding, all - consuming love, that drove her to confess everything. It spelled the beginning of the end. The day was cool, and Victoria could see her breath as she walked amongst the hedgerows. The azure sky held not a single cloud and it cheered her, spurring her on. She had sent a messenger to Dover House with a letter, imploring Melbourne to meet her in the Palace gardens, and he had done as she wished. He sat on the edge of one of the fountains which had been turned off for the winter months, lest the water freeze over. Neither realised that they had dressed alike, their emerald green coats mirroring one another, both more alike than they would ever admit. He stood when he saw her, as he always did, bending to kiss her small, gloved hand, but she held his before he could stand upright, looking deeply into his eyes. “Dear Lord M. I feel I must confess something.”  
She did, she confessed to loving him as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and when she had finished, she looked up at him expectantly, begging him silently to reciprocate her feelings. His eyes told of his love, though he spoke it not in words.  
“Surely you must know Ma’am, how ardently I admire you, how devoted I am to you. And you must know what it is costing me to tell you that it cannot be.” His voice was soft, comforting but it would have wounded her less had he screamed in her face.  
“This is bigger than you, or I. I cannot stand back and allow you to bring down the monarchy for the sake of a wretch like me. The scandal, Ma’am,” he rubbed her hand gently as she shook her head and fought back the tears that threatened to spill down her porcelain cheeks. “As someone who has borne the brunt of public outcry, I cannot force the same unto you.”  
“I thought that we were happy.”  
“I was. But I shall not cause your ruination.”  
“You will not admit what I know so readily to be true?”  
“I shall not, however much I might want to.” He added his final sentence in a barely perceptible whisper. Her parting phrase was like a dagger through his bruised and battered heart. She had held herself up to her full height, and in her clear, perfectly rehearsed voice, reserved for her subjects, said: “Good day, Lord Melbourne.” And with that, she had distanced him, formalised him, made him into something less than an acquaintance.  
Victoria had refused to leave her room, refused food, water and company. A month on from the incident, she had finally crumbled. Two days had passed in a similar fashion and the staff and courtiers grew worried. “You don’t suppose she’s done something stupid.” Came the whispered aside of her friend Emma. This caused widespread panic and questioning as to who could possibly convince the Queen to emerge from her room. It did not take long for the only suggestion to be spoken. Thus, a messenger was dispatched to Dover House, instructed to accompany Lord Melbourne to the Palace by force if necessary.  
He stormed past the women, ready to barge down the door. The look in his eyes preventing the ladies from following him. He found her huddled on the floor at the foot of her four poster bad, her face red and blotchy from her tears. She bore the exhausted mien of a woman so broken and drained that she could easily end it all. “Victoria,” he whispered, sitting down beside her, stopping himself from doing what felt natural, wrapping his strong arms around her and sheltering her from the world. “Everything’s so backward,” she sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest. “They are taunting me, these letters!” she motioned towards a large pile of envelopes and he knew what was written on them. “It is all I desire in the world, yet it cannot be.” The look on his handsome face told her that he wanted the same. “I’d give it all up, for you.”  
In the end, he did give it all up, but that day, as they made plans, they had no inclination as to their future happiness, of their shared joy and sorrow. He had fought against his better judgement, the country’s expectations for her, and allowed love to triumph. Never before had he felt more content, nor she for that matter, than sitting on the hard wood floor that day, Victoria cuddled under his arm. Breaking the familiar silence, she smiled wistfully and said: “Everything I have and everything I do, I existed in the shadows, without you, without my happiness.” He let out a short, quiet laugh as he kissed the top of her head and she continued: “That’s funny, isn’t it, and sad too?”


End file.
